


Tell Me That You're Alright

by MCRmyGeneral



Series: Words I Never Said [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cheating, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Closeted Character, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, Hurt/Comfort, I fucking hate Monica, If getting shot in the leg can be called 'minor', Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jealousy, Juvie, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Minor Injuries, ROTC!Ian, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shooting, Useless Parent, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10472133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCRmyGeneral/pseuds/MCRmyGeneral
Summary: "I need to see you."All of the Kash/Ian/Mickey drama from 1x9, expanded for ya!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Everything Is Alright by Motion City Soundtrack.

The air was cold. Cold and sharp, and Ian's lips were stinging and his lungs were burning with every inhale. But he didn't stop running. He pushed himself to his breaking point, legs sore, feet aching every time they met the concrete from the force he was putting behind them. Ian was running as hard as he ever had before, needing to get there _now_.

He set a hand on the chain-link fence post, using his momentum to catapult himself into the Milkovich’s yard. He barreled up the porch steps, losing his footing once but catching himself before his face met the splintered wood. He stood again and all but ran straight into the front door, pounding his fist against it forcefully.

He knew this was stupid. The Milkoviches were probably used to pounding on their front door, and were more than likely locking and loading inside, ready for either the SWAT team or a gang of criminals Terry had pissed off to come storming through the door. Ian would be lucky to end the day without a bullet wound.

He licked his lips as he waited. This was stupid for a whole other reason than possibly getting lit the fuck up. The odds of Mickey being home alone were slim to none. And if Mandy opened the door, how was Ian going to explain that he was here for her brother and not her? Even worse, what if Terry opened the door?

The deadbolt turned, and Ian swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. And though the door was ripped open by a very irritable Milkovich, Ian breathed a sigh of relief. You knew you were crazy when a pissed-off Mickey Milkovich made you feel relieved. Crazy, stupid, or in love. Ian figured he was a little bit of it all.

“What the fuck?” Mickey growled before he realized that it was Ian pounding on the door and not someone they owed drug money to. His scowl softened, but didn't disappear.

“I need to see you,” Ian confessed, his voice breaking. He didn't care how desperate he sounded.

“ _Not_ a good time,” Mickey warned, and as if on cue, Terry’s threatening voice came from deep inside the house.

“Who keeps hanging their fucking laundry on my pull-up bar?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and looked back at Ian.

“You hurt?”

Ian's brow furrowed. “No.”

“Someone else hurt?”

“No.”

Mickey shook his head sarcastically. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

Ian turned his head this way and that, as if the words he was searching for were hanging in his peripheral vision. “I-I-I don't know where else to go,” He said, hoping that this needy, emotionally-broken persona he was wearing wasn't gonna scare Mickey away. Much to Ian's surprise, Mickey didn't slam the door in his face, which he had honestly half-expected when he broke out all the touchy-feely emotional crap.

But Mickey's eyes _did_ soften, and he looked sad and a little proud, like knowing that he was Ian's refuge warmed him inside.

“I thought you were working today,” He said finally, scratching a non-existent itch on his face and looking more concerned than he usually let himself.

“Uh, Linda's gonna have my ass. I'm supposed to be there now.”

“I'll meet you there in 20,” Mickey agreed, licking his lips.

Ian exhaled and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Go,” Mickey said softly, nodding in the general direction of the Kash n Grab. Ian turned and cantered back down the porch steps.

“And calm the fuck down,” Mickey called after him, and Ian turned, looking confused. “You sprint the whole way there, you're gonna give yourself a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Ian smiled his lopsided smile at him. He wanted to remind Mickey that he was in near-perfect shape and could run a six-minute mile, but Mickey had the door closed before he could even open his mouth.

Ian chuckled once to himself, his breath fading into the cloudy day. He started toward the Kash n Grab, this time at a brisk pace instead of a full run.

By the time he made it to the store, he was twenty minutes late. He hoped it would be empty when he got there, but luck wasn't on his side today.

Linda's head shot toward the door when the bell rang and Ian stopped half-in, half-out, frozen by the force of her glare alone.

“Really, Ian? Twenty minutes?” She snarled, and Ian frowned.

“Sorry,” He breathed, entering the store to face his punishment, “I’m just not having a good day,” He admitted.

Linda rolled her eyes and closed her binder full of bookwork. “I am not your therapist, Ian, and I do not care about your problems,” She said callously as she packed up what she was working on. “I am your boss and what I care about is my employees not costing me money or inconveniencing me in any way,” She said, grabbing her bags and walking toward the door. She stopped short, looking at Ian. His face was tilted toward the ground, and he had tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Linda's scowl fell. “I'll forgive it today, but don't make a habit of it,” She said softly.

Ian looked up and her and smiled lightly. “Thanks,” He whispered, and Linda smiled at him for half a second before walking around him and out the door.

Ian shucked off his coat and stuck it under the counter, smiling. The tears in his eyes were actually from the stinging wind outside, but Linda didn't need to know that.

He sat on his stool at the register, trying to focus on anything but the ticking of the clock up by the cigarettes. Twenty minutes. He could make it twenty minutes.

But a mind can do a lot of wandering in twenty minutes. Ian sat at the counter with his chin in his hand, thinking back on what few memories he had of Monica.

He remembered being six years old, barely in kindergarten. It had been parent's day, and all the other kids were squealing and beaming in pride as they led their parents around the classroom, showing them the art projects they'd made and the words they'd learned how to spell. Ian had sat at his desk with his head hung. Even at that age, he knew better than to think that Mom, what he called her back then, would actually show. But that didn't stop him from hoping she would. He sat biting his lip to hold back tears. The teacher had eventually taken pity on him, excusing him early claiming an upset stomach, and let him go home.

He thought back to when he was 12, when he had broken his collarbone falling out of a tree in his neighbor’s backyard. He remembered falling, but not hitting the ground. When he'd woken up, Fiona and Lip were both standing above him, faces creased with worry.

“Fi?”

“Don't move, Ian. An ambulance is on its way.”

Ian's eyes went wide. “An ambulance? Why?”

“Broken collarbone,” Lip had answered.

Ian started hyperventilating. “It hurts, Fi. Am I gonna be okay? Will I need surgery? Where's Mom?”

“You're gonna be fine. You don't need surgery.”

“Where's Mom?” He repeated the question that Fiona had dodged.

Fiona and Lip both looked away, neither wanting to break the news that Monica was off on a bender, that Ian was the last thing on her mind right now.

He shook in fear the whole ride to the hospital, regardless of Fiona and Lip each gripping a hand.

“I'm scared, Fi,” He'd whispered as they all sat in the ER, waiting for a doctor.

Fiona had squeezed him tightly, as if her embrace had made up for the fact that his mother was MIA during one of the most terrifying moments of his life.

“I wish Mom was here,” He'd said softly, and Fiona had frowned. “Where is she?”

Fiona never got to answer, because the doctor had walked in just then.

Ian was grateful to Fiona and Lip for standing by him through the X-ray and the sling, but deep down, he knew he'd feel less scared if his mother was there to hold his hand.

The last time Ian had let Monica disappoint him was when he was 13; his eighth grade graduation. Monica had been home the week before, and was over the moon that she'd get to see him walk across the stage in his cap and gown. She bought him new clothes to wear, and even planned him a giant party. He had let himself believe that she would follow through, and would finally be there to support him on an important day. But underneath his excitement, there was a deep pessimism. He wanted so badly to believe that she'd actually be there, but a small part of him was expecting her to let him down again.

Two days before the ceremony, Monica had disappeared, gone off with Frank. But Ian still let himself get his hopes up. Maybe she'd make it.

When his name was called, he stood and walked across the stage, looking out to the small group of people in the crowd standing and cheering for him. Fiona, Lip, Debs, Carl, V and Kev. No Frank, but Ian wasn't stupid enough to think Frank would show up. He didn't even care about Frank. What hurt was the fact that Monica wasn't there, either.

Ian had stopped in the middle of the stage, scowled, threw his cap on the ground and walked right off, right past the principal, and right past his diploma.

His family had found him in the gym, shooting hoops by himself, his gown balled up and thrown under the bleachers. The echo of the ball against the wood floor sounded like thunder in their ears. Nobody had said anything. They all understood. The girls just took off their heels, the guys took off their jackets, and they'd all simply walked onto the court, joining the game without a word.

By the time the game was over, they were all smiling, the girls had owed the boys dinner and a movie, and Ian had made the decision that he was never again going to let his mother break his heart. He'd given her every chance to step up and be a parent, and she'd thrown it back in his face every time. And it wasn't just him, it was all his siblings. They'd never known what it was like to have a mother, and damn Monica for making her children grow up with that crucial role fulfilled. Fiona did what she could, and he and Lip could fill in the rest. They had each other; they didn't need Monica. He vowed that day as they walked home that he would never let Carl and Debbie (and a year later, when Liam joined the picture) feel the abandonment that he, Lip and Fiona had. The three siblings would be the best parents they could. They could survive without her.

The more Ian thought, the angrier he got. How dare she leave them? They were just children; they needed her back then. But time and time again, she'd proven to them that she was useless. Frank was a despicable excuse for a human, but at least he was around, regardless of what little, if anything, he did for the family. And now, after all this time, Monica had the balls to come back? To show her face in town. She never cared about her kids. She didn't give a shit how they'd be affected every time she left, and now she didn't care how they'd feel about her coming back. Ian ground his teeth. Who the hell did she think she was to just show back up in their lives? She wasn't family. She wasn't a mother.

Ian jumped when the chime above the door sounded. Mickey hurried in, shoving the door closed behind him.

“What the fuck was that about?” He asked as soon as he was through the door. “Any particular reason you tried to bust down my door?”

Ian shook his head, jaw still clenched in anger.

“ _Hello_?” Mickey asked when Ian didn't answer, or even look at him. He walked over to the counter, putting himself right in Ian's line of sight. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Ian flared his nostrils and swallowed. “Monica's back,” He said tensely.

The annoyance in Mickey's face drained, leaving only slight sadness. “Shit,” He said softly, grimacing. He didn't know much about the Gallagher family, but he knew all he needed to know about Monica; that she was bad news. “You okay?” He asked, looking a little uncomfortable. He wasn't really looking to get even _more_ emotionally involved with Ian than he was, since he was already in deeper than he ever intended with the kid. But Ian just had the type of personality that ensnared you; he was the kind of effervescent, kind-hearted, optimistic, dare he say, sweet person that you couldn’t help but feel something for. He was the kind of person everyone wanted to be around, a genuinely good guy, and he certainly didn’t deserve any of the shit that was thrown his way. So Mickey figured his ‘cold-hearted hard-ass’ persona could be put on hold for a moment. He needed to know that Ian was fine, or at least _would_ be.

Ian sighed, letting his wall come down. “I'm feeling so many things. I'm scared, I'm hurt, I'm sad, I'm angry, most of all. Part of me is hoping that it's for real this time, that maybe she's pulled her head out of her ass and wants to be a part of our family again.”

Mickey shook his head. “Don't let yourself do that. Let me guess, you do that every time she comes back, and every time she spits in your face.”

Ian frowned. “Yeah, I guess.”

Mickey shook his head again. “You gotta be stronger than that. It’s the same whenever my dad gets out of jail. You think things are gonna be good this time, that maybe he’s changed, realized that he’s been a grade-A prick that's done nothing but terrorize his kids their entire lives. And you know in your heart that it won’t but you can’t help thinking that maybe _something’s_ changed, that you can be a real family this time.”

Ian frowned. The look on Mickey’s face spoke more words than his voice ever could. He was staring intensely at the counter, like he was ashamed to reveal that he actually had feelings, and that his family had their own set of problems, that maybe he and Ian were more alike than either of them had ever noticed. Ian knew that Mickey had seen this just as many times as he and his siblings had. His heart hurt for Mickey, Mandy and the other Milkovich kids. They didn’t deserve a fuck-up like Terry for a father. The Milkovich kids deserved better.

Mickey shook his head, and just like that, the vulnerability had been shaken from his eyes. “You know what she does, you know it's gonna end badly,” He reasoned, shifting the focus back to Ian, “Don't let yourself fall for her tricks again. From what I know, your family's better off without her.”

“Thanks, Mick,” Ian said with a soft smile. But his face hardened again almost immediately. He hopped up from his stool and started pacing in front of the door. “I'm just so fucking pissed off at her. How can she think this is okay? We're doing fine by ourselves. She abandoned us and now she has the audacity to show her face around here?” He spat.

Mickey watched him pace, watched his fists clench and unclench with every word. He was a little worried. He'd never seen Ian like this before, not even when they were brawling in his bedroom. He looked like he was about to put a fist through the glass door. But to be honest, it kind of got him hot. He was definitely a fan of angry Ian.

Ian stopped suddenly, setting his eyes on Mickey. Mickey saw the angry hunger in them, and his dick hardened a bit. In a second, Ian had locked the door and was advancing on Mickey, grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him into the walk-in cooler.

Mickey was surprised, to say the least. He didn't think this would turn to sex; he figured he'd be talking Ian down from Molotov-ing Monica's car. He grimaced at the realization that he had come here for purely emotional reasons. He didn't ever think that emotion would trump arousal in their whatever-this-was. He shoved that thought down, hoping that it would fade and eventually disappear.

Before the cooler door had even shut behind them, Ian was ripping his sweater off, and Mickey was right behind him, pulling the boy's t-shirt over his head.

Ian was all force today, clawing at Mickey's belt and pushing him to wherever he wanted him. He didn't bother with his shirt, just turned him around and ripped his pants down. Mickey went along with it, knowing how it felt to be full of aggression and just needing to hate-fuck someone. For that reason and _only_ that reason (he tried to tell himself), he allowed Ian to push and pull him, bending him over and fingering him roughly, pulling a sheen of sweat over his whole body.

Ian knew he was being rough, but he couldn't help it. Every bone in his body was buzzing, and he wasn't sure if it was arousal or anger, but he needed to get inside Mickey, fuck him into the shelves, and flood him with cum, and he needed to do it _now_. He knew an orgasm would make him feel better. Besides, if he got too intense, Mickey would stop him. He'd probably stop him with a fist in the jaw, but he'd stop him.

Ian lined up and pushed into Mickey, who nearly growled from the burn.

“Fuck,” He groaned, hanging his head.

Instantly, Ian stopped. “Too much?” He asked, afraid he was actually hurting him.

Mickey shook his head. “No. Feels good.”

Ian smiled and pulled out, pushing back in and immediately losing control, thrusting fast and hard.

The smack of skin on skin was overwhelmingly loud in the insulated room, falling into harmony with Ian's heavy breathing and Mickey's grunting. The cans and bottles on the shelves knocked together every time Ian pushed into Mickey, and they sounded almost like chimes. It made Ian smile.

“Fuck, Mickey,” Ian breathed. Mickey had yielded to him in the best way, knowing exactly what he needed.

“Harder,” Mickey grunted, and Ian was more than happy to oblige, snapping his hips so hard than Mickey's ass was sure to be bruised the next morning.

He threw his head back and moaned, digging one hand into the soft flesh of Mickey's hip. He saw that Mickey's hands were gripping the shelving so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Ian thought for a moment and took a chance, covering one of Mickey's hands with his own. This was the closest he figured he'd ever come to actually holding his hand, so Ian took the time to savor it. Mickey's skin was rough and calloused here, a contrast to the skin on his hips, which was soft and warm.

Mickey grunted with Ian's every thrust, letting the noises drip from his lips like the sweetest honey Ian had ever tasted. 

The boys were so preoccupied with chasing their orgasms that they didn't notice the happy yelling out in the store. They didn't notice anything but each other. That is, until the cooler door opened with a loud _clunk_.

They both turned to look over their shoulders, both sets of eyebrows raising.

Fuck. It was Kash.

“What the fuck?” Mickey yelled, pulling up his pants and sprinting out of the cooler, pushing Kash on his way out.

Kash just let himself fall against the shelves, face somehow vacant, sad and angry all at the same time.

Ian zipped up his jeans and just stood in the cooler, not able to break eye contact with the man he'd once considered his lover. He didn't realize until now how shitty it was, dropping Kash for Mickey and not even telling him. Though they were never officially a couple, and they'd never talked about being exclusive, Ian supposed he was kind of cheating on Kash in a weird way, and he just literally got caught with his pants down.

“Kash,” He finally said sadly.

Kash flared his nostrils and walked away.

“Kash!” Ian yelled, throwing his shirt on and running after him. He twirled him around. “Kash, wait!”

“ _What_?” He roared, and Ian flinched.

“I'm sorry!”

Kash chuckled sarcastically, then frowned. “This is why you've been distant. Why you haven't been in the mood.”

Ian grimaced. “Yeah,” He sighed.

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you been _fucking the Milkovich kid_?”

“Since he took the gun. When I went to get it back…” He trailed off.

Kash’s lip trembled in anger. “I can't believe it. You're cheating on me in my own store!”

Ian cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse you? I'm not cheating on you, Kash. We're not a couple. You're married! We're just fuck buddies. You don't get to decide who I can and can't sleep with.”

Kash chuckled again, venomously. “Oh? Wait till Terry finds out about this,” He threatened, turning and heading for the door again.

“What? _No_!” Ian shrieked, sprinting around him to block the door.

“Move, Ian.”

“No,” Ian said defiantly. “He’ll kill him.”

Kash shrugged, turning toward the back door.

“Kash, stop!” Ian panted, his mind whirling. He needed to stop him, even if it meant going lower than he ever had before. “If you tell Terry about this, I'm telling _everyone_ about us.”

Kash stopped and turned, scowling. “You wouldn't.”

Ian shrugged. “You leave me no choice. I don’t want to and I’m not proud of it, but if you breathe a _word_ of this to Terry, I’ll go straight to the police and you’ll go to jail.”

Kash puckered his mouth and shook his head at Ian.

Ian sighed. “I really am sorry, Kash.”

Kash scoffed and turned back around. “Restock the veggies.”

Ian grimaced and went back to the cooler, pulling his sweater on over his t-shirt. He absentmindedly started rearranging the vegetables, thinking about what the actual fuck just happened.

Not only was he screwed out of an orgasm he so desperately needed, but had outed whatever this was between himself and Mickey. He really did feel bad about Kash finding out this way. He knew that was a cliché, but it was true. He should've been a man and told Kash when he started losing interest, instead of sneaking around. And it _was_ stupid, fucking in the store. Kash and Linda both had keys, they could walk in any time. He was lucky it was Kash that found them and not Linda. Linda would've fired him, but at least he had dirt on Kash.

The two worked around each other in silence for the rest of the night, slipping glances at each other when their eyes were looking away. The silence was sawing on Ian’s brain stem. There was something still unsaid between them.

Ian looked over and watched as Kash stacked the avocados in a pyramid. He huffed. Kash was a middle-aged man and whether Ian admitted it or not, he was still a child. Yeah, they’d been a thing for the past year, but Kash had to know that it wasn’t gonna last forever. And while this was a shitty way to find out that your fuck buddy’s moved on, Kash needed to let it go. He’d been pouting for hours, which was a little creepy. He shouldn’t have been so hung up on Ian, especially since he was a grown man and Ian was still so young. He had to know that whatever they had wasn’t serious. What, was he just gonna pine over Ian for the rest of his life?

Ian grabbed an empty box and walked it out to the dumpster, shooting Kash a dirty look as he walked past that thankfully, he saw. He tossed the box into the dumpster and sat down on an overturned milk crate, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it up, the flame from his lighter warming his face against the bitter cold.

It was dark and cold, like Chicago did so well. Ian blew out his smoke and sighed. Man, what a whirlwind of a day. But between the sex and the getting caught, Monica was the last thing on his mind right now. He raised the cigarette to his lips again, but before he could inhale, he heard a shot from inside the store.

Ian sprung to his feet. Was someone robbing the store? “Kash!” He yelled, running inside. He skidded to a stop when he saw that it wasn’t just any criminal staring down the barrel of Kash’s gun; it was Mickey.

“Kash, what are you doing?” Ian yelled, holding his hands out to his sides, as if it was going to stop the next bullet. And in Ian’s heart, he knew there would be a next bullet.

“It's a fucking Snickers bar!” Mickey reasoned with the gunman, his eyes wide and looking more terrified than Ian had ever seen him. Except for the first time they’d fucked, when Terry had walked in on them. Kash lowered the gun, firing it one more time, and sending the bullet ripping right into Mickey’s thigh.

Mickey fell to the ground, cradling his leg as blood poured from the wound all over Ian’s obsessively clean floor. “Fuck!” He yelled, clutching his leg.

“Holy shit!” Ian gasped. Did that really just happen? He definitely thought that when a firefight _did_ ensue between the two, that Kash would be the on the receiving end.

“Jesus Chr-” Mickey cut himself off, squeezing his thigh.

Ian ran to him, dropping to his knees besides the boy, putting his hands on the wound and pressing. Mickey hissed and thrashed, but Ian held him as securely as he could. “I know it hurts, but I gotta keep pressure on it. Are you okay?”

“Fuck!” Mickey swore, panting.

“Yeah, run to his side, Ian,” Kash taunted the boy angrily. “He’s all that matters to you.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Kash!” Ian spat toward the man.

“You leave him alone; I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” Mickey threw at Kash, who just rolled his eyes and picked up his phone.

“I’ve got medic experience from ROTC; I promise you’re gonna be fine,” Ian said as calmly as he could. He stripped off his belt and tied it around Mickey’s thigh like a tourniquet, and immediately the blood flow slowed. He wiped his bloody hands on his jeans and held Mickey’s head in place, forcing him to look in his eyes. “Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me! You’re gonna be fine,” He insisted.

“I’d like to report a theft.”

Ian looked over his shoulder and saw that Kash was on the phone with the police. He stood and ran around the counter, reaching for the phone, but Kash twisted and turned away, now smeared with blood from Ian's hands.

“What the fuck are you doing! Stop!” Ian yelled, still trying to pry the phone out of Kash’s hand.

“The Kash n Grab. Perp’s been shot in the leg. He’s not going anywhere.” Kash nodded and hung up the phone, and Ian pushed him forcefully, causing him to lose his footing and land on his ass.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I reported a theft,” Kash said coolly, standing back up.

“Bullshit, it was! Goddamn, Kash, if you're trying to get back into my pants, this is _so_ not the way to do it!”

Kash shrugged. “I guess neither of us get what we want now. At least he’ll be out in a year.”

Ian clenched his jaw as white-hot anger coursed through his veins. Before he knew what he was doing, his fist was connecting with Kash’s face, and he went tumbling to the floor all over again. Only this time, he wasn’t getting back up.

Ian clenched and unclenched his fist a few times before running back over to Mickey. As good as burying himself in Mickey’s ass was, hitting something helped so much more with the anger and hurt he’d been feeling all afternoon.

Mickey had sat up, leaning himself against the shelf of Pop-Tarts and preserves. He was still holding his leg, but he seemed to be better. Maybe it was just shock.

“Shit, Gallagher. He’s out cold,” Mickey chuckled, seeing Kash’s legs sticking out from behind the counter.

Ian grinned proudly. “They teach hand-to-hand combat in ROTC.”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “There anything that stupid Army shit didn’t teach you?”

_How to deal with your maybe-kind of-boyfriend getting shot and sent to juvie in a jealous rage by your slightly pedophilic ex-lover and boss._

Ian’s smile fell. “We gotta get you out of here, Mickey.”

Mickey furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“We gotta go. The cops are on their way; you’re gonna go to juvie.”

Mikey shrugged, his face getting paler and paler. “Not like I’ve never been before. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to, though. We can leave now, we’ll make it back to your place and if anyone asks, you can say you had a misfire whi-”

“Shut up,” Mickey shook his head. “Nobody will believe that; I'm better with a gun than half the criminals in this town. Besides, you said they’ve get every inch of this shithole on surveillance. I’ll never get away with it. Especially not with the trail of blood I’d leave, running straight to my front door.”

Ian jumped when he heard sirens. They didn’t sound far.

“I don’t want you to go to juvie, though,” He admitted, and he was surprised when Mickey didn’t yell at him for his faggoty crap.

“It’s okay. I’ll be out before you know it. I got away with a lot of shit here. I figure it’s overdue,” Mickey said calmly, with a smile.

Ian chuckled and pulled another cigarette from his pack, lighting it and taking a drag before sticking it between Mickey’s lips. Mickey puffed on it greedily.

“How does it feel?”

“Huh?”

Mickey smirked. “How does it feel knowing people are gettin’ shot over your ass? Gotta be one hell of a lay,” He joked, and Ian smiled. The sirens were creeping up on them, and Ian was starting to shake.

“I _do_ wish I would’ve blown my load earlier, though.”

Ian laughed.

“I’d ask you to finish me off, but I don’t think I can pitch a tent with a bullet in my leg.”

“I think I could make it work,” Ian said with a smirk.

Mickey laughed, but just for a second. Then he frowned. “Hey, why don’t you get outta here?”

Ian looked at him like he had just turned purple. “Why?”

Mickey shrugged halfheartedly, losing energy quickly. “Just figured it’d be better if you weren’t around when the heat shows up. They’re gonna wanna question you and have you testify, and it’s gonna be real annoying. Best if you split now.”

Ian couldn’t help it; he felt touched that Mickey was trying to keep him out of trouble. “I don’t wanna leave you like this.”

Mickey scoffed. “I’ll be fine, nurse Gallagher. Now go. _Go_ ,” He demanded, pushing Ian firmly when he didn’t move.

Ian nodded. “Okay. You’ll be okay?” He asked one more time.

“Yeah. Now go on.”

“I’ll come see you as soon as I can,” Ian promised as he pulled his coat on. The boys could see the police lights through the front windows now.

Mickey nodded, and Ian disappeared out the back door, keeping to alleys and side streets as he ran. He had started the day running _to_ Mickey, and now he was running _from_ him. This day had been a roller coaster, and now he’d be without Mickey for god knows how long.

Ian let his mind settle as his feet pounded the pavement. He hated leaving Mickey sitting in a puddle of blood, but the boy had been right. There would be a _lot_ of questions asked and assumptions made. No, right now running was the right move. He hoped it wouldn’t be forever, though. As far as Ian was concerned, Mickey was the best move he could make, the only move he cared about.

He knew this wasn’t the end of their relationship. There was so much more to say and do. He was nowhere near finished with Mickey, and he knew Mickey wasn’t finished with him. And he was just fine with that.

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests and prompts! Let me know what you'd like to see [here](http://ieroween1031.tumblr.com/ask)!


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